Jumbled words, backwards letters, oblivious to homework setters. Sore hands straining to write, every word becomes a fight. Maximum effort, results so poor, wishing he could run out that door.
He Can’t keep up no matter how fast he goes, his speed and effort never shows. Imagination runs riot to get those words in poetry and prose.
He is Looking around, everyone has finished, his self-belief slowly diminished. Trying his best like all the rest, yet his best is not as good, he needs a rest.
His teacher says he could do better, it says so in his school report and the parent’s letter. Dyslexia running through his veins saps his energy and hides his brains, all his effort is in vain.
© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2018
Rhythm of the Ink 